Calmly Now, Tatum Waterway

 

Went up to cross you—

yes you—

footbridge slim,

two meters wide and you were long frowning,

though ever slightly, over Tatum.

 

Incorruptible, you always make ways to places not here,

as ponytailed Venezuelan boys wheelie cross

your parabolic back,

and the slow fluid fills

the ever-thirsty mouth

of Bahía Vizcaína,

 

who,

in the face of language,

is in fact,

a lagoon.

 

And the pelicans probe her in the night

as the kids make their way, ever eerily,

living freely, unknowing

of the hurt

they’ll soon cause too.

 

One side a’ you whitely lit

and the other

is orange aglow,

 

you trafficker in lascivious secrets,

 

those of teenagers, the body, the master,

a forever reminder

that we are all cursed to crossing over;

 

Something in the water here

makes lazy bones.